


(All My Friends Are) Bad Kids

by ryukoishida



Series: Radical Notion [1]
Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Mafia AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9225518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: When Hilmes’ family is slaughtered by a mole sent by Andragoras, all that’s left is his loyal bodyguard Xandes and his most-trusted lieutenant Saam. He has no one else to turn to until his cousin Arslan – the young leader of the newest and fastest rising mafia group in the city – offers to take him in. [Mafia AU]





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for zealabs on Tumblr for the Arslan Senki Holiday Exchange 2016
> 
> The domestic mafia AU that literally nobody asks for… I’m so sorry I swear I tried… so hard… [sobs] I hope you like it anyway and have a happy new year!

He wakes up to the ghost of flames crackling too close, the heat a searing, lasting pain that burns and melts his skin, crawling deeper still as if the fire was alive and trickling through his bloodstreams and swallowing every thought, every hope as the screams of his dying parents echo in his head.

 

"Mr. Hilmes... Mr. Hilmes! Wake up! You're having a nightmare!" A familiar voice – deep, gritty, and tinged with obvious panic – calls out, and he feels warm, calloused fingers catching his hand in a tight grasp that’s almost desperate.

 

“Should I call Farangis in to check him over?” A much calmer voice, light like the wisp of clouds under a bright blue sky on a summer’s day, asks.

 

“You stay out of this, brat!”

 

“Watch your tone, Xandes,” another unfamiliar voice adds, subtle irritation toiling just beneath that frigidly polite tenor.

 

It seems like there’s an unwelcoming crowd of company gathered in his room while he has been resting, and Hilmes has a feeling that unless he opens his eyes soon, the bickering will only continue and the peaceful sleep he’s been hoping to get will be impossible.

 

“Xan…des…” Sand grains scratch against his throat when he attempts to speak, and the right side of his face still aches with the reminder of the fire from almost a week ago even as the injury begins to gradually heal beneath the bandages.

 

His eyes are gummed down with sleep as he struggles to open them, and in the near darkness of the room with only slivers of sunlight filtering through the blinds as the only source of illumination, Hilmes has to blink a few times before his one eye not obstructed by bandages can adjust and spots the three figures standing by his bedside.

 

The looming shadow of his bodyguard is a familiar sight that immediately puts Hilmes at ease in a strange surrounding; the other two men are standing further away, their backs against the wall of the bedroom to give them plenty of space, and neither have spoken another word since Hilmes has displayed signs of waking up.

 

Xandes lowers his body so that they can speak at eye-level and quickly replies to his master’s call, “I’m right here, Mr. Hilmes.”  

 

In his sleep-muddled mind, Hilmes still somehow notices that Xandes is no longer holding his hand; he vaguely wonders why that is before he decides that a) this is neither the time nor the place to be asking insignificant questions, and b) he really wants to be left alone before strange thoughts like the one he just had can consume him.

 

The dark-haired man pushes himself up on his elbows, wincing slightly when his weakened muscles start to give in, but Xandes immediately reaches out with one strong arm to support his back before Hilmes can even utter a word. Xandes fixes the pillow so his master can recline in a slightly more comfortable position, and hands him a glass of water, gaze lowered in silence, which is rare for the usually raucous young man who has been by his side, protecting him since their early teenage years.

 

Hilmes nods in thanks as he hands the empty glass back to Xandes before he fixes his hardened gaze up at the two men standing by the doorway.

 

“Arslan,” the name by itself is enough to fill Hilmes with a burst of unspeakable hatred, and he doesn’t try to hide it at all when he glares at the younger man with piercing green eyes, his tone low and unfriendly. “What are you doing in here? You’re the last person I want to see.”

 

“Discourteous as always,” the man standing protectively beside Arslan murmurs with distaste, mouth tightening into an unimpressed frown as he folds his arms across his chest, “Mr. Arslan has been kind enough to take you in and provide you protection while you recover despite the risk he’s posing to himself and his clan, and yet you dare to––”

 

“Elam, that’s enough,” Arslan places a firm hand on his companion’s shoulder. He never raises his voice during the exchange, but there’s a hint of authority laced within his unassuming tenor, and Elam backs off though his forest green eyes remain defiant.

 

“I apologize for my man’s insolence,” Arslan turns back to Hilmes, his smile polite.

 

“What do you want?” Hilmes demands, though his hoarse, whispery voice from smoke inhalation in the fire makes him sound weaker than he intends.

 

“I want to talk with you,” Arslan is still using his calm, pleasant tone, as if he’s talking to a mere friend, and Hilmes despises this more than anything. He wants to make the younger man cower and shake with fear, wants to tear him apart as Andragoras has tear apart his family and clan, for they share the same blood and therefore the same ambitions, do they not?

 

His thought halts there, and Hilmes is stranded, perplexed.

 

If Andragoras wanted him dead, why would his son risk his own life to save him? They’re cousins through the cursed bloodline, but they haven’t seen or contact each other since Osroes decided to break away from the main family two decades ago to form his own organization.

 

He’s also heard that Arslan has founded his own clan just three years prior when he came of age; for what reason Hilmes didn’t know, nor did he care at the time.

 

In the beginning, Lion’s Den was just a small, scattered group of riffraff that appears to have no hopes of becoming anything more than just a trivial gang incapable of gaining a following or fighting for its own turf. Headed by its young, inexperienced leader who’s the castaway son of the biggest mafia family in Pars, the heart of the clan composes of some well-known names in the underground world: the notorious arms dealer Daryun; the eccentric yet intelligent strategist, recruiter, and art smuggler Narsus; a talented surgeon and ruthless leader of drug trafficking Farangis; and the mysterious, flirtatious, yet highly-skilled assassin Gieve.

 

In the three years since its birth, Lion’s Den has grown significantly stronger in terms of manpower, operations, and resources, and it’s slowly but surely becoming a serious threat for Andragoras’ Ecbatana Group.

 

Arslan may have willingly left the main clan, but Hilmes is certain that the younger man is expecting a favour – something in return for his hospitality.  

 

“Leave us for a moment, Xandes,” his cold, vigilant gaze never leaves Arslan’s figure.

 

“But Mr. Hilmes––”

 

“It’s fine,” he turns his head slightly to face Xandes, the steel in his iris softening just a degree.

 

“I understand,” Xandes bows and leaves the room.

 

“Elam, if you please.”

 

“Of course,” the brunet nods and follows Xandes’ tracks as he closes the door quietly behind him.

 

Arslan helps himself to the chair by Hilmes’ bedside, his expression still amiable. “Do you need anything at all? You don’t need to hesitate to ask.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” Hilmes snaps.

 

The young leader of Lion’s Den doesn’t look rattled at all, but his earlier smile has diminished a little, becoming brittle, and he straightens his back as if he’s steeling himself for a battle.

 

“Saam has already explained everything to you, hasn’t he?”

 

In fact, the most-trusted lieutenant who acts like a father-figure for the younger members of Khosrow was the one who arrived at his doorstep one week ago with a badly-burned Hilmes in his arms. His own clothes were burnt in patches and dried blood stained his ashen face as if they had just barely escape from a fistfight; standing close behind them was Xandes, who didn’t look like he’d fare any better.

 

It was only after Farangis had spent hours in their shared condo’s fully-equipped operation room and came out declaring that Hilmes would make it through safely that Saam was able to relax enough to tell Arslan and his two lieutenants what had happened. The older man was hesitant when Narsus asked if he had any suspicions as to who were behind the violent attack, but upon more insistent questioning from Daryun, Saam looked away from Arslan for the first time that evening, cheeks tainted with shame, as he admitted that the attacker might have been sent by Andragoras.

 

“Not enough,” Hilmes insists, fingers gathering into fists. “What can you possibly gain by letting me stay?”

 

“Probably more trouble than what it’s worth,” Arslan chuckles, “at least that’s what Narsus and Daryun have been telling me.”

 

“You should listen to them,” Hilmes murmurs, looking away. “Your dear, loving father is probably still searching for me out there, hoping to finish me off. It’ll only be a matter of time before he realizes that I’m here.”

 

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Arslan says, looking directly at him. His tone hasn’t changed – still that gentle wisp of cloud over sunlight – but something in the way his eyes gleam with genuine determination causes Hilmes to rethink his options. “As long as you’re under my roof, you are under Lion’s Den’s protection. I can promise you that.”

 

“I don’t understand... Why would you risk your own clan’s wellbeing by harbouring me?”

 

The frustration is apparent through the tautness of his voice and his shaking frame.

 

“You are my cousin,” Arslan tells him like it’s the simplest – the only – answer, a helpless smile curving along his lips, “and a part of the family. No matter how much you may deny it, we are connected by our bloodline, and I will not stand idly by if something were to happen to you.”

 

“And what of Andragoras?” The bitter taste lingers as the name of his parents’ killer stains his tongue.

 

“He banished me three years ago in front of all the highest-ranked members in Ecbatana,” Arslan says, eyes fluttering closed as he recalls the scene – and he can do so as calmly as if it were someone else’s memories now, “he’s no longer my father, and I’m no longer his son. Though our organizations are now separate entities, I cannot condone what he has done to you and your clan. I––”

 

Arslan pauses, head lowered.

 

“Whatever it is, just spit it out,” Hilmes sighs.

 

When he looks up to speak to Hilmes once more, the blue in his eyes is fierce through the veil of his silver hair, “I know I cannot bring your parents or your people back, so at least let us be your shield until you can stand on your own once more.”

 

Hilmes stares at the man who’s almost a decade younger – the determined set to his mouth, the kindness in his eyes – and he cannot say no.

 

He still doesn’t trust him yet – or Lion’s Den – but he always trusts Saam’s judgement; he has nowhere else to go, so he might as well just stay put for now.

 

“Fine,” Hilmes assents, tension still stirring beneath his skin, “I will repay you in due time; I don’t like owing people any favors.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Arslan pulls himself out of the chair with a more upbeat smile than before.

 

After he leaves, Hilmes sags his back against the pillow, eyelids falling shut as a tired sigh escapes his lips.

 

-

 

Two days later finds Hilmes healthy enough to be out of bed and walking about, so Arslan warmly invites him to familiarize himself with the condominium that all the major members of Lion’s Den co-own.

 

In the office – a sunlit area of full-length glass windows that extend across two sides of the room while the remaining space is occupied by shelves of books and neatly organized binders and folders as well as a large mahogany table and matching padded chairs – that also serves as a reading room whenever it’s not being used for meetings, Hilmes is avoiding the rest of the Lion’s Den members that are milling about the condo as he tries to quietly read when Narsus and Saam come in, talking quietly amongst themselves.

 

Hair streaked with premature white and with bruised shadows beneath his eyes, Saam looks as if he hasn’t been sleeping well for the last few weeks, and Hilmes’ heart tugs uncomfortably, knowing well that he’s the reason that his lieutenant and guardian has been so worried.  

 

“Mr. Hilmes. How are you feeling?” Saam is the first to notice his young master, and his back straightens instinctively.

 

“Much better, thank you, Saam.”

 

“Hilmes, I trust that you’ve been recovering well?” Narsus asks with a pleasant smile, an expression that Hilmes is already wary of.

 

“Dr. Farangis is good at her job,” Hilmes admits.

 

Under the surgeon’s care, the burns have been healing as they should, leaving minimal scarring on his face and arm though sharp changes in temperature and even physical touching still cause the sensitive skin to flare slightly with heat.

 

“Oh, she’s the best,” Narsus agrees, “though we all take care to stay on her good side. You don’t want to have to deal with the doctor when she gets truly furious.”

 

Hilmes is almost curious enough to ask, but he’s heard rumors about the dark-haired beauty, who’s known to be a competent surgeon as much as she’s revered as a reputable yet callous leader in the drug trafficking business.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hilmes replies coolly, and then turns to Saam, “Do you know where Xandes is?”

 

Earlier in the day, Hilmes had sent his bodyguard away so he can read in peace, but under Narsus’ calm and almost calculated gaze, Hilmes wishes nothing more than to be as far away from the strategist as humanly possible.

 

“He’s in the communal kitchen downstairs,” Saam says.

 

“Whatever Xandes is making, it’s smelling heavenly down there,” Narsus adds, “I’d never expect that bodyguard of yours to be the type that bakes in his spare time.”

 

Actually, neither does Hilmes, but he only nods once before stepping out of the office.   

 

-

 

The honey-glazed aroma of baking phyllo pastries and orange-scented pistachios and walnuts fill the kitchen, which is surprisingly empty when Hilmes finally locates it.

 

The timer is set on the stove, informing him that whatever’s in the oven will be ready in fourteen minutes.

 

He peeks through the oven door, and his eyes widen in surprise when he sees triangles of baklava in the baking pan, slowly rising and turning a delicious golden brown.

 

He doesn’t even realize that Xandes is aware of what his favourite dessert is; his bodyguard is more observant than Hilmes has given him credit for.

  

Nursing a cup of coffee that’s quickly becoming too cold to consume, Hilmes, expecting to see Xandes by the doorway, turns around from the counter he’s been leaning against when he hears footsteps behind him.

 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the young master of Khosrow Group himself,” the man announces in a sing-song voice.

 

Leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded elegantly across his chest, a fox-like grin on his face, and sea-green eyes gleaming with intention, the most capable assassin in Lion’s Den is staring at Hilmes like he’s an animal about to be slaughtered on the spot.

 

A hint of warning prickles Hilmes’ skin and crawls up his spine, screaming at him to move, but his feet will not budge.

 

“What do you want?” Hilmes mutters as the man walks in nonchalantly and begins to make himself a cup of coffee.

 

“Nothing,” Gieve replies cheerfully as he pours himself a generous amount of the steaming hot drink into a ceramic mug.

 

“Bullshit. Arslan sent you, didn’t he?”

 

“If you must know, I’m really doing this on my own accord, and I’m here to give you some friendly advice.

 

“Arslan is a good man – a kind leader who wears his heart on his sleeve, which is kind of a funny trait for someone in our line of business – and I’ve known many who have tried to take advantage of his kindness,” Gieve adds an excessive amount of vanilla extract into his very milky coffee as he continues to speak, “Can you guess where they’ve gone now?”

 

Gieve is standing across from Hilmes on the other side of the counter, stirring his beverage with a focused gaze.

 

“I think I may have a pretty good idea,” Hilmes gulps a mouthful of his black coffee, and winces at the cold bitterness.

 

“Good,” Gieve places his spoon down with a delicate clink, eyes cold and callous as a hunter’s glancing up at Hilmes through purple fringes as the assassin takes the mug to his lips for a tentative sip.

 

“But just in case I haven’t made myself clear: If you touch one hair on Arslan’s head––” Gieve’s smirk is still in place when he carefully puts his mug back on the counter, but there’s a sly sharpness in his darkened eyes that makes Hilmes take a cautious step back as the man about half a head shorter than him invades his personal space, one arm raised as he reaches up and lightly touches Hilmes’ forehead with the tip of his index finger and his thumb cocked like a gun’s trigger, “––bang. I’ll make sure you’ll never touch that buff bodyguard of yours ever again.”

 

For a moment, neither of them move, but then the timer beeps urgently, and Xandes arrives a few seconds later, eyes flickering between the two men who are now standing two paces apart.

 

“Anything that matter? Mr. Hilmes, is this asshole bothering you?”

 

Xandes sends the man a dirty glare, which doesn’t look as threatening as he aims to since he’s also wearing a small, frilly apron with patterns of bunnies screen-printed on pastel blue fabric, a garment that probably belongs to Alfreed, Farangis’ young assistant.

 

“My name’s Gieve, not ‘asshole’,” the assassin throws a bright grin at Xandes before he begins to saunter away towards the kitchen’s doorway, slender hips swaying with purpose. He adds over his shoulder, “And calling me that ain’t going to get you anywhere near this fine piece of ass.”

 

“Why you little––!”

 

“Xandes, enough.”

 

There’s no real ire in his young master’s tone, Xandes notices right away and though he may be brash at times, he does know when to shut up when it counts.

 

“I won’t let him get away next time,” Xandes swears under his breath before hurrying towards the oven to take out the finished product he’d spent the entire morning creating.

 

“Now that we’ve decided to take refuge here for the foreseeable future, it’s best that we keep our relationship with Lion’s Den civil.”

 

“You’re right, Mr. Hilmes,” Xandes agrees with several nods as he places the baking tray on the stovetop. “I’ll keep my tone in check… but I can’t promise I’ll be able to hold back when that insufferable hitman is around.”

 

Hilmes knows he’s referring to Gieve, and he can’t agree more.

 

The saccharine scent of honey and roasted nuts is even more potent now, and with the afternoon sunlight trailing golden strands through the wide windows by the sink, the kitchen feels almost homely and cozy.

 

He can never allow himself to let his guard down when he’s in an unfamiliar territory full of too many strangers and people he has yet to trust, but with his bodyguard beside him, Hilmes can at least feel slightly at ease when it’s just the two of them alone.

 

“Baklava…” His fingers mindlessly rub the rim of the cup, emerald eyes glancing with interest at the baked dessert. It’s been a long time since he’s had one.

 

“It’s nothing fancy!” Xandes exclaims, cheeks turning pink as he takes off the oven mitts and begins to take out a few plates from the cupboard. “I thought I’d try my hands at making it from scratch since you like it so much.”

 

“How did you know?”

 

Xandes gives him an incredulous look, one eyebrow raised – something that he usually doesn’t dare do in front of all the other subordinates – but Hilmes finds this little exchange refreshing, that the younger man can be less formal and stiff around him. He wishes they can have this – whatever this is – more often.

 

“We’ve been together for almost ten years now, Mr. Hilmes,” Xandes says as he cuts a piece of the dessert and places it carefully on a plate, “I may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but the least I can do is knowing your likes and dislikes so that I won’t cause you any unnecessary trouble.”

 

“It’s been that long, huh?”

 

Thanking him with a rare smile – a mere twitch of his lips – when Xandes passes him a plate, Hilmes takes a bite of the soft pastry, still warm enough to burn the tip of his tongue.

 

The orange scent is subtle and enticing, and the amount of sweetness is perfect for Hilmes’ liking; he wonders how many tries it has taken Xandes to get it just right.

 

He wonders how he has never noticed that, other than the rash, blustering side of Xandes, there’s also a side of the man who enjoys baking sweets and is surprisingly talented at it.

 

He wonders how much he’s missed in the years he spent fumbling his way up to meet his father’s expectations – following his footsteps to defend and strengthen the empire that Osroes has built from the ground up after they’d split from the main faction, doing everything he can to learn the trades of the business, making sure that every action he takes is precise and every command he gives is iron-clad so that his subordinates will follow him and place their trust in him.

 

In the end, everything crumbles around him like a grand sand castle being swept by vicious waves of the lawless ocean. He should consider himself lucky that he still has Xandes and Saam by his side.

 

As he finishes swallowing his last mouthful of baklava, Hilmes turns his thoughtful gaze towards the younger man, who’s already finished his portion and is now putting the rest of the dessert into several Tupperware to store them for later consumption.

 

“Xandes, I should apologize.”

 

“Why?” he turns swiftly to face his young master, brows knitted into a confused frown.

 

“I wasn’t ready to take on the role as Khosrow’s leader, but I’ve acted like a fool, pretending that I’m good enough and demanding all the members to respect me when I hadn’t done nearly enough to deserve it,” the words trickle out of him like the slow dredge of a rusted tap, and as painful as it is to hear himself admit the truth, it’s also lifting some of the heaviness from his chest. “I wish I’ve taken the time to get to know and understand you and the others. Perhaps that was why Andragoras was able to take advantage and…”

 

“Mr. Hilmes!” Xandes leans across the counter and gathers his master’s hands into his own so quickly and suddenly that Hilmes doesn’t have time to react, “What happened – the fire, the ambush – none of that was your fault! You mustn’t think that way; your parents wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself.”

 

Hilmes stares at their joint hands, taking in how warm and rough Xandes’ fingers are against his, and how incredibly safe he feels whenever he’s around.

 

When Xandes speaks again, his voice dips into a gentler tenor, like soft thunder rumbling in the distant – deep and comforting.

 

“You’ve always been a good leader – inexperienced, sure – but we’ve all got to start somewhere, right?”

 

His hazel eyes are trained upon Hilmes’ face, and they show nothing but absolute trust and warmth that lights a small flame in his withering heart.

 

“Thank you for believing in me despite how much I’ve already fucked up.”

 

“Yeah, anytime.”

 

“Woah, hey! Didn’t mean to interrupt a touching moment there,” an unwanted audience makes his presence known at the doorway with a devilish grin on his lips.

 

The two men pull their hands away, Xandes looking more flustered while Hilmes remains impeccably calm except for the tell-tale sign of the blushing on his cheeks.

 

“What is it now, Gieve?” Xandes grunts as he begins to untie his apron and pulls it over his head to hang it on a hook by the refrigerator.

 

“Hilmes, Arslan wants to see you in the meeting room,” Gieve tells the guests, “apparently, Andragoras has already managed to sniff out where you are. Damn, this is going to be so much fun!”

 

“We have very different definitions of what’s considered ‘fun’,” Hilmes rolls his eyes but follows Gieve’s lead nevertheless as they make their way upstairs, with Xandes following close behind.

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that this is a very abrupt ending… I don’t even know what to say anymore, haha!
> 
> Also, there will most likely be ficlets in this AU.


End file.
